Until Valhalla
by The Reaper of Valhalla
Summary: A aged old man tells his grand daughter about the legendary Spartan that is Commander Shepard. Part 1 of 8 of the Man Of War Series. Prologue of the series.
1. Star Child

**A/N: I recommend reading the what I have done for Man of War:Codex before you read this. Lots of crossovers and original ideas taking place in this series such as a Martian Kaiden, a terminator Cortana and Spartan Shepard twins… Yeah just go, click on my name and read that shit first to get a grasps of this A/U universe so nothing suddenly appears out of the blue for you. If you did then…**

 **Onto the Story…  
** OOOOOO

 **A Day of Remembrance...**

On a cold windy afternoon in a small little park, in a small town on a backwater farming colony few people outside it's local population who couldn't care anymore about it. There on a park bench along a walking path sat a old soldier in civilian attire, who has long been separated from the battlefields of war that has been his home for all of his adolescence and most of his adulthood, now spends his Golden Years as a Storyteller of Old. His old age apparent on his scared face as wrinkles and crow's feet run rampant wherever his scars haven't already mauled, His once pure raven black colored hair is now dulled and striped in silver strains. Adding to the weathered and worn down look this retired soldier walks with a cane that is held with one hand upon his lap as he admires the scenery around him while waiting for his newest and possibly last purpose he has in his life to arrive. His grandchild, who just 12 years old.

That is late, as always.

"GRANDPA!" A youthful, high pitched feminine voice suddenly announced itself. Shattering the tranquility of the scenery around "Grandpa."

"Ha Ho! Look how big yo-uhf!" Grandpa says as he granddaughter runs up to and hugs him around the waist just as he gets up. The child's backpack making all kinds of ruckus as she runs. The child's mother and his oldest daughter calls from her vehicle.

"I got go Father. I'm running late, I'll pick her up as promised!" His daughter yelled to him. He waved her goodbye and gave her a thumbs up.

"BYE MOTHER!" His granddaughter yelled as she enthusiastically waves her hand back and forth. The Mother gave a small chuckle with a big smile as she waved back and began to drive down the road.

"Wanna get some hot chocolate, Squirt?" Grandpa asked his descendant. She gave a cute little pout at her grandpa's nickname for her as she replied.

"Grandpaaa… that's not my name." The child scowled.

"Well too bad, your always gonna be a lil Squirt to me." Grandpa retorted. He leans in and ask in a whisper. "Wanna know why?"

"W-Why?" Squirt asks in a giggly voice, a big smile plastered on her face from the anticipation of what's about to come.

"Because…" Grandpa replies in a whisper. "Your _MY_ Little Squirt!" He says very loudly as he tickles his granddaughter. She leans on him as he attacks her stomach, sides and neck with "tickly little monsters" as she calls them. This continues for a few minutes before the Storytellers assault ends.

"Alright, Squirt. I think you learn your lesson." The weathered Storyteller proclaimed.

"Y-Yes, G-Grandpaa." The Squirt replied, her voice still full of giggling laughter from the tickle attack. The two head back to the Storyteller's home to spend the day after a bit of shopping and walking along the way.

 _Later at Grandpa's House._

 _ ****_After helping her grandpa with the dishes from dinner the two settle down in the living room as they play a digital board game. Squirt had the look of hesitation on her face and looked deeply troubled by something. As the game near its end, the Storyteller notices the child's unease and decides to voice his concern.

"What's troubling you child?" The grandfather asked.

"Well…" She hesitates for a few moments as she puts down her red piece. The game was momentarily forgotten by both occupants of the room.

The Storyteller patiently waits as the child formulate her words. After deciding just to be blunt she asked.

" _WhoIsTheShepardAndWhyDoesNoOneWantsToAnswerThatQuestion_?!" She spits out the words in less than 4 seconds and so fast that the sentence becomes one giant word. Luckily the old Storyteller's hearing hasn't failed him and he understood her query. What he didn't understand is why was she asking _him_. She could learn any number of ways at school, the archives, or speaking to the townsfolk as the man was a modern day legend in every way possible.

The Storyteller frowned at the last thought. Why are they denying her answer to a simple, harmless question about someone who had long been dead?

"Now I'll answer to that _if_ , you would like to share with me why you want to know that?" The Storyteller questioned.

"It's just… who is he exactly and why is everyone acting like he is some horrible plague they will contract if they even so much as _think_ his name? I seen stories of him on the net and there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with him." The grandchild asked. The irritation in her voice was practically foaming in her mouth as she spoke.

"Ahh…" he replied before continuing with more understanding.

"Well Squirt, They either want to forget him entirely, which I _very_ much doubt or they are afraid of _The Cult_." The Storyteller answered.

"The… _Cult_?" She asked mildly confused.

"Yes. More specifically _The Cult of Shepard_ , they worship him as a god among men or a god reborn. They constantly argue which. Anyway they worshiped him as they would any other god: Prayers, Temples, Monuments, Altars. The only thing they won't do is ritual sacrifices as they know Shepard _hated_ pointless waste of life. Some still do a sacrifice but not in the traditional sense, they would dedicate their lives to a respected military doing the most dangerous missions as spec ops or black op forces in the name of peace just as Shepard has done." Grandpa explained

"But most dedicate themselves to justice and act as a unofficial vigilante group which a lot of people don't like. They make they own justice system and go by what they think is right or wrong based on the question of " _what would Shepard do?"_ and they kill the ones they think are wrong. Now if Shepard was still alive he would have burned that whole organization to the ground. _Again_." The grandfather explains tiredly as he told this story many a time.

"How would _you_ know that?" She teases, trying to call her grandfather's bluff

"Because I known him when he was alive." He replied bluntly. Completely shattering Squirt's world at this revolution.

The girl's eyes practically bulged out her head as she asked. "REALLY!?" As she nearly jumps up to her feet as she gets in her grandpa's face from excitement.

"Yes, really." He said with a smirk.

"Then can you tell me about him?" She asked. This made Grandpa pause for a moment. The aged storyteller thinks on this. He thinks about the pros and cons of doing so…

For all about two seconds and comes to a conclusion.

" _Why the hell not? I'm too old to be bothered by petty things like consequences_." He thinks to himself.

The Storyteller chuckles at his own inner thoughts. He puts on a his family's signature Shepard Smile as he prepares to tell his granddaughter about his grandfather.

"Do you know our family motto?" He begins. Squirt eyes seem to beam as he begins to tell his story.


	2. Once More onto Hell

**Year: 3183 A.D.  
Location:The Lesser Ark  
Name: Marcus "Death's Dancer" Shepard.  
Affiliation:United Nation Space Command; Secondary-Affiliation: System Alliance.  
Rank: Tier III; Headhunter; Commander.  
Call Sign:Onyx One.  
Operation:Last Light.**

In the darkened space of a Orbital Drop Pod sat it's sole occupant as he prepares for the dangerous mission of his life  
as a Headhunter, in his life as a _Spartan_. He recounts the past five years since the start of this war as he waits for the signal.

He is the founder and last living leader of the System Alliance. The last known form of military and governmental power in known space. Earth, Mars, Luna, Sanghelios, Prime and most other homeworlds have long since fallen to the parasitic entity known as the Gravemind.

Known as Humanity's Gate, The Military Might of the Allies, The Last Bastion and The Homeworld of the Spartans. Only Reach has held the defense against the relentless Flood hordes in space, on ship, and on land.

The System Alliance was formed as the main governments of most species fell within days of the parasitic intelligence suddenly activated a device on Earth known as the Forerunner Gateway. Once the portal opened untold amounts of Flood biomass swarmed from the portal like Hell itself poured through. QEC footage of the initial wave shows metal and flesh constricts the size of houses entering the planet's atmosphere only for them to vanish before hitting the ground. These constructs, later known as "Hell Pods" entered slipspace and travelled unimaginable speeds through subspace to every species homeworld of the Allied Pact and Coalition.

Upon planetfall the parasite had landed in the very heart of the Capitals of the world they landed on and consumed every living thing. The governmental leaders at the capitals were infected and gave the Gravemind everything he needed to know of where to strike. Since then military and civilian populace alike has been trying to run from the ever growing hordes of undead parasites. With most of the governmental and higher military leaders dead, nearly all coordinated military action was halted and lost without orders until the crew of _The Valhalla_ had gathered and rallied local military assets to repeal the parasite from Reach. Since then its been nothing but S&R and purging….

The Spartan's breath get caught in his throat as he recalls his first encounter with the entity known as the Gravemind. It's multi layered voice echoes in the Commander head as memories that were suppressed come forth to forefront of his mind with a _vengeance._

 _ **Your pitiful defense is failing...**_

 _Flashes of hulking Flood biomasses as big as skyscrapers clashes with metal and men as entire armies are wiped out in a single swing of it's one in many mutated appendages._

 _ **Walls and flesh are crumbled and consumed…**_

 _Images of hundreds infection forms swarming helpless women and children in their bunker as Shepard and his men tries vainly to hold back the horde to save as many as possible._

 _ **Until silence screams the loudest…**_

 _Their cries for help and salvation are twisted into hellish screeching as the parasite takes hold. Their bones are shattered then painfully mended into grotesque spikes or tentacles made for impaling, their organs liquefied and reformed to shift their biomass into infectious killing machines._

" **Red Alert!"**

The sudden activation of the intercom brought the Commander out of his waking nightmares as he releases his death grip on the now ruin panels. _Shit._

" _ **Existing Slipspace Portal in two minutes. Repeat, Exiting slipspace in two minutes, all Last Light Operatives prepare for deployment. All able bodied personnel go to Combat Alert Alpha. Repeat All combat able personnel prepare to repel boarders! Alpha Company…"**_

The Commander tunes out the announcer as the Spartan already had prepped himself and his team hours beforehand. They were going on a mission different from all of the fleet. The Spartan deafly repairs the damaged control panel essential for the pod's functionality as the announcer gave a the pods a red light as a warning before his words spread across the lunch bay.

" _ **Deploying in Four Mikes…"**_

There was a grim silence from his squad as they awaited the green light. _The Long Minute_ as the ODSTs call it. The Spartan finishes the repairs as hears the announcer again.

" _ **T- minus One Mike…"**_

At this time the Commander relaxes in his seat for his pre-drop ritual that he always does before deployment.

" _ **T- minus 30 seconds…"**_

He closed his eyes, and exhaled a deep sigh. He could feel it, far off in the dark reaches of his mind. He could feel the fear of _Failure_ and _Weakness_ making themselves known as _Dread_ fill his heart, the fear of any possible wrong thing that could happen to him or to his squad sets a weight that seems to catch his breath in his throat. He knew that it was there, and that it would fight him like a do deranged Jiralhanae if he allowed it to. So instead of fighting it…

He embraced it.

 _Five…_

He could feel the heavy feeling in his lungs increase tenfold, and the weight on his shoulders increase twice as much as that as _Doubt_ tightens its hold on his chest.

 _Four…_

He could feel _Fear_ in his own battle hardened eyes as it crawls back from the darkest depths of his mind, threatening to open them to a world of helplessness in which he himself couldn't protect his people.

 _Three…_

He could feel the voices of _Guilt_ and _Hatred_ slithering into his ears, whispering of dark things. They wanted his soul, they wanted him to sleep, to stop the fighting, to _give up,_ they wanted him to know what it would mean to _Fail,_ and thus, to fail everything he'd ever loved.

 _Two…_

He felt the stress of a lifetime of war and battle, creeping into his bones and stiffening them up. The lethargic, drowsy feeling that came with the stress was welcomed like an old friend after many years apart.

 _One..._

Everything crashed down onto him at once, trying to break him, trying to kill his resolve and rot his very soul. He could feel the weight of his mother's pistols on his lower back, and knew in the back of his mind that if he jammed either one right under his chin, and pulled the trigger, the marble size, tungsten shaven round would soar straight through his brains and end his life. It would be easy. _So. Gods. Damn. Easy_ , just to end the regrets, end the the guilt and the pain of war.

 _That's…_ _Enough._

Like the flip of a switch, just like that. The vile thoughts of _Fear_ , _Guilt, Hated,_ and _Doubt_ were gone. In its place was _Strength_ and _Determination_ to fight another battle, the _Resolve_ to face the most unspeakable horrors of this war, and the _Will_ to do it all again and again until the Valkyries call his name for judgement by Odin on the Golden Bridge to enter Valhalla.

He could feel his heartbeat, and knew that that alone meant he was still alive and well.

 _We are neither Angels nor Demons…_

He could feel the gel layer of his family Mjolnir Armor on his hands, and knew that that alone meant he could fight.

 _From the Depths of Hell and_ _Halls of from Valhalla we were born…_

He could feel the familiar yet distinctive weight of the tactical vest on his torso, of his vast array of personally hand crafted weapons and knew that that alone meant he had the tools to fight countless foes in countless battles for years to come.

 _To kill all who threaten our way of life..._

He could feel the tingling sensation of _Pandora's Box_ implanted on his spine and Nervous System and knew that he alone held the key to his people's future.

 _No mere mortal can stop us..._

All together, meant that he was a Headhunter, a warrior, the ultimate soldier, and one of the best and highest rating soldiers in his people's history to ever have graced the battlefield.

For _We are SPARTANS_ …

The lights turn from red to green as the announcer finishes in a somber tone.

" **Deploying, God help you Spartans…"**

There is no sound in space but the burst of pulsation thrusters activation on hundreds of other drop pods lights up the tinted glass of the commander own drop pod like a strobe light before he himself is lunched from the ship. For a few seconds the founder of the System Alliance sees the battle in space between the Alliance Eradication Fleets and the Flood infested ships that have their hulls _entirely covered_ in Flood biomass above the superstructure known as the Lesser Ark.

For a few precious seconds the Commander takes in the destructive beauty of the battle in the void through his viewport before it was blocked by infectious spores that lives in the Arks upper atmosphere.

Bright streams of purple and white soar across the vast reaches of space as the planetary glassing weaponry vaporizes twisted flesh and armor like hot knife through butter. Red and Blue striped lines practically _radiant_ from the ships of the Alliance as they fire human and scrape made plasma weaponry at smaller vessels and infected fighters in hopes of rebelling potential infestations. Thousands of white swirling lines dance almost gracefully through space as the Havoc, Archer and Hellfire Missiles fly to their intended target. Occasionally a bright orange series of beam fly across the void from a recovered Forerunner Dreadnought that was originally part of the Reach Defense Fleet at the start of the war.

In turn the infected ships of the Gravemind fire the same kind of weaponry as most of the infected ships are Human or Coalition made but there's a catch. Instead of white and purple plasma discharge commonly known by those types of weaponry, a sickening dark yellow energy beam emits from the infected ships and hits the System Alliance ships. Damaging hulls and releasing infected biomass specifically made to withstand temperatures that are akin to the surface of a sun. Yellow and green spiked projectiles shots forth from the masses of flesh on the hulls of the infected ship with trails of puss following behind to destroy or convert Alliance fighter and bombers to the Floods already uncountable numbers. What appears to be a mass of tentacles flying through space are known as Seeders act as boarding craft to reap more biomass to their collective. They move through the void like a squid does through water, dodging incoming munitions as they attempt to board the Alliance ships and those that do so complete their task with frightening ease.

Then the only thing that was visible past the glass frame of the pod was the oh so familiar green sludge of the parasites spores.


End file.
